It was finally Brandon's turn to fight—and his opponent was none other than Jinx. Just before Brandon stepped into the ring, Jason grabbed his sleeve and leaned in, voice low and sharp.
"He's reckless, but not stupid. Fast, aggressive. He aims straight for the kill. Don't stay too long on defense—he'll read you and go for your vitals. No hesitation. If you see an opening, take it."
Brandon smirked. "Aw, Jay-Jay… you do care."
Jason promptly kicked his shin and walked off.
Brandon limped slightly as he entered the ring. Jinx was already there, flashing that usual twisted grin. The moment the announcer gave the signal, Jinx lunged—dagger raised, straight for Brandon's throat.
But Brandon was quicker. He twisted to the side and flipped back, just narrowly avoiding the blade. As he landed, Jinx's momentum carried him forward—just enough for Brandon to swipe.
A thin red line opened across Jinx's cheek. He froze. Reached up. Blood.
"You—" Jinx growled.
Brandon's eyes glinted coldly, a mocking grin on his face. "You might've gotten lucky last time, but not today. That scar? I gave you that just now… when you aimed for my throat. Only Jason gets to go for that." His tone dropped, the last part disturbingly serious.
The crowd turned hostile in an instant—boos erupting from every corner.
Brandon blinked. "Wait, what?! What'd I do?!"
The announcer's voice rang out, smug and sharp. "Foul on Vortex! Team member used a weapon. Minus one point. Both teams are now tied!"
Brandon's eyes narrowed, expression darkening. "You said we could use weapons."
"I said you could," the announcer teased, sticking out her tongue. "Never said you were allowed."
Brandon muttered under his breath, voice low and venomous as he shot her a cold glare. "I'm going to kill you after this… mark my words."
Then he turned back to Jinx, dropping the blade with a loud clink.
"I don't need a weapon to break you."
Jinx wiped the blood from his face, his smile returning as he crouched into position. "You might regret that, pretty boy."
And the crowd roared again as the real fight began.
Jinx didn't wait. The second Brandon dropped the blade, he was already moving—fast, a blur of motion like a shadow unhinged. His foot slammed into Brandon's stomach before he could reset his stance, lifting him off the ground and sending him crashing into the ring's edge.
The crowd roared in approval as Brandon groaned, coughing hard. Blood splattered against the floor from his mouth.
Jinx grinned wickedly. "What's wrong? Thought you didn't need a weapon?"
Brandon pushed himself up slowly, wiping the blood from his chin. "You hit like a spoiled brat," he spat. But his eyes were hazy—his footing, shaky.
Jinx didn't wait for a comeback. He dashed in again—this time slashing with a smaller hidden blade from his boot. It grazed Brandon's side, tearing through fabric and skin. Brandon cried out, stumbling backward, hand going to his bleeding waist.
Jason, watching from outside the ring, clenched his fists. "Brandon, don't let him control the pace…"
Jinx was ruthless—slamming a knee into Brandon's face as he tried to rise, sending him sprawling again. Blood poured from his nose now. Jinx straddled him and began landing heavy punches—one after another. Brandon's head whipped side to side from each blow. The crowd screamed in savage delight.
Brandon tried to block, but Jinx was in a frenzy—his fists soaked in blood now. " How I enjoy moments like this," he snarled, grabbing Brandon by the collar and slamming his head against the ground. "You're just a clown hiding behind jokes. Let's see how long you laugh after I break your damn jaw!"
Brandon didn't answer. His breathing was ragged. Blood trickled from a cut above his eye. His vision blurred.
Jinx raised his fist again, poised to end it—
But Brandon's hand shot up—grabbing Jinx's wrist mid-strike.
A flicker of fire returned to his eyes.
"I was holding back… but not anymore."
His voice dropped to a tone Jason hadn't heard in years—dangerous. The crowd fell silent for a split second.
Then Brandon twisted Jinx's arm with a sickening crack. Jinx screamed as the bone shifted unnaturally. Brandon kneed him off and staggered to his feet—bloodied, barely standing, but something in his posture had changed.
Jason scoffed. "He's pissed now."
The announcer grinned. "This is getting fun."
And round two wasn't over yet.
Brandon stood, shoulders heaving, face drenched in blood and sweat—but his eyes were locked onto Jinx with a coldness that hadn't been there before. The crowd was split—half roaring for blood, half silent, sensing the shift in the air.
Jinx clutched his dislocated arm, face twisted in pain, but he didn't back down. Gritting his teeth, he pulled a wire-thin blade from his boot with his good hand and lunged again—wild and fast.
Brandon moved differently now. No more jokes, no more dodging with flair. He caught Jinx's strike mid-air, twisted his wrist, and brought his elbow crashing down on it with brutal force—snapping it clean. The blade clattered to the ground.
Jinx screamed, but before he could recover, Brandon slammed his forehead into Jinx's nose with a bone-crunching crack. Blood exploded down Jinx's face as he stumbled back.
"You think I'm a joke?" Brandon growled, his voice lower, darker. "I've killed men with smiles on my face… don't think for a second I can't do it frowning."
Jinx tried to respond, but Brandon was already behind him, slamming his knee into Jinx's back, sending him crashing face-first into the ring floor. Blood pooled around his mouth.
Brandon grabbed him by the hair and whispered coldly, "You want revenge for Rosita? You'll have to do better than this."
Then he drove Jinx's face into the floor again—once, twice, three times—until the crowd began to quiet.
Jinx twitched but didn't rise.
The announcer finally called it: "Round three—Vortex Team Wins!"
Brandon stood over Jinx, chest rising and falling, blood dripping from his fists. He turned and walked back toward Jason, not even looking back.
Jason glanced at him, eyes sharp. "Took you long enough."
Brandon didn't smile. "Let's just say... I'm not in the mood for jokes."
But Jason wasn't listening anymore—his focus was locked on Bon. His eyes sharpened, cold and unreadable.
"Well… time to feed the beast," he muttered under his breath, stepping into the ring without hesitation.
Bon followed, his expression unreadable, each step echoing with weight.
The announcer raised her mic, voice slicing through the tension.
"Round four… begin."
The moment the announcer's voice echoed, Bon lunged—no hesitation, no warning. Jason barely had time to brace before her fist collided with his ribs, the impact sharp and brutal. He staggered, but didn't fall.
"Tch... fast," he muttered, blocking her next strike with his forearm—only for her knee to slam into his gut.
Blood coughed from his mouth, but Jason twisted mid-hit, grabbing her shoulder and slamming her back-first into the ring wall. The crowd roared as Bon grinned through the pain, wiping blood from her lip.
"Not bad, Vortex. But not good enough."
She swung upward, her elbow crashing into Jason's chin. His head snapped back—vision spinning—before he was launched across the ring. He hit the floor hard, skidding, blood trailing behind him.
Still, Jason rose.
He wiped the blood from his mouth, his breathing ragged. "I've been through worse."
Bon narrowed her eyes. "Then you'll survive this."
They clashed again—punches, dodges, bone-jarring hits. Jason landed a solid kick that sent her stumbling, then followed with a strike to her side that made her flinch. For a moment, it looked like Jason had the upper hand—until Bon pivoted low and swept his legs clean off the ground.
He crashed down. Before he could react, her boot was at his throat.
Jason tried to rise—blood dripping down his temple—but his limbs felt heavy. Bon's fist clenched. The crowd had gone quiet, holding its breath.
She hovered over him, panting slightly, bloodied but still standing tall.
Jason's vision blurred, but something in him refused to stay down. As Bon raised her fist to finish it, he twisted, grabbing her ankle and yanking hard. She lost balance and stumbled, giving Jason the second he needed.
He rolled to his feet, spitting out blood, and without missing a beat, launched himself at her with a wild right hook. It connected—clean and heavy—sending Bon staggering sideways. The crowd erupted.
Jason didn't let up.
He rammed into her, slamming her back against the wall of the ring, then delivered a flurry of body shots. One, two, three—each punch forcing a gasp from her lips. Blood splattered the floor.
Bon gritted her teeth, caught his wrist mid-swing, and headbutted him. Hard.
Jason reeled back, dazed—but swung wildly anyway, catching her jaw again. She spun and dropped to a knee. For a breath, it looked like she might go down.
Jason stood over her, fists clenched, chest rising and falling in quick bursts. His knuckles were bruised, his shirt torn, blood running down his face—but there was fire in his eyes.
Bon slowly raised her head. Her lip was split, her eyes cold—but amused.
"…Now that's more like it," she whispered, rising to her feet again. "This fight's just getting started."
Bon cracked her neck as she stood fully upright, wiping the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. "I was holding back," she said quietly, voice dark, "but now… I'm done playing."
Jason didn't flinch. "Then stop talking and come at me."
She shot forward like a bullet—faster than before. Jason barely dodged, but she caught him mid-turn with a vicious elbow to the side of his ribs. The crack echoed. Jason grunted, staggered—but countered with a punch that grazed her cheek.
Bon spun with it, using the momentum to slam her knee into his gut, then drove her fist straight into his jaw. Jason hit the ground hard, blood pouring from his mouth.
He coughed, tried to get up—Bon kicked him across the face before he could. He rolled onto his side, groaning. His vision flickered.
"Stay down, Vortex," she snarled. "This is for Rosita."
At the mention of the name, Jason's eyes snapped open.
He pushed himself up slowly, his body trembling. "She wasn't supposed to die like that…" he muttered, eyes locked on her. "But I'm not the only monster in this ring."
He lunged—headbutted her in the face. Blood sprayed. Bon stumbled back, and Jason tackled her, slamming her into the ground. His fists came down again and again—furious, desperate.
Bon caught his hand mid-swing and twisted hard. Jason screamed as she flipped him over and pinned him.
Their blood mixed on the mat. Both heaving. Both barely standing.
She had Jason's arm twisted at an unnatural angle, her knee pressing down with brutal weight. His face was twisted in pain, blood running from his mouth as he let out a sharp cry.
"This is for everything, Vortex," Bon growled. "For my prey. For the stolen codes. For my arm. For Rosita."
She pushed harder—bones creaking, seconds from snapping—when a cold voice rang out:
"Let him go."
Bon paused. Her eyes darted to the edge of the ring. Brandon stood there, shadows falling over his face. But something was different—his usual smirk was gone. His eyes weren't playful. They were dead. Hollow.
"And why would I do that?" Bon sneered.
"Because you've got the wrong man," Brandon said darkly. "He's not Vortex."
Jason blinked through the pain, stunned.
Bon scoffed. "You're bluffing. Trying to save your friend. He's the one who—"
"I'm the one who killed Rosita Ashford," Brandon interrupted, his voice sharp, absolute. "Not him. He doesn't even know the damn codes. Only me and my superior do. I carved her open. I made her scream. And I enjoyed every moment of it."
Bon's grip loosened. Her gaze narrowed, and for the first time, uncertainty flickered in her eyes.
Then she looked closer—into Brandon's eyes. That emptiness. No remorse. No guilt. A void.
"My god…" she whispered. "It really is you…"
She yanked Jason's head back by the hair, forcing him to look at Brandon. "And here I thought this soft-eyed idiot could be capable of butchering Rosita… makes sense now. You're the real monster."
She shoved Jason to the mat and stood.
Brandon stepped into the ring.
Jason struggled to his feet. "Brandon, don't be stupid. You're already injured. I can finish her—"
"No, Jay," Brandon said, eyes still fixed on Bon. "This is my fight. She came for Vortex. And I'm done running from what I am."
Bon turned to Jason. "Get out before I snap your neck. You already look like a wreck like some pathetic worm."
Jason stared at her, unmoving—then spotted a small glint by the edge of the ring. Jinx's dagger. Without a word, he picked it up.
In a flash, he spun around and hurled it—aimed not to kill, but to warn.
The blade sliced Bon's neck, grazing her windpipe just enough to draw a stream of blood. She staggered back, clutching her throat, eyes wide in disbelief.
Jason stepped close, eyes locked on hers—no emotion, only fury.
"Say that again," he whispered. "I could've killed you right now. The only reason I didn't is because I can't risk another damn penalty point. But if you ever touch me again, I won't hold back. I don't play with my prey — I end it in one move. Unlike Vortex over there, I don't waste time with torture."
The whole arena was silent.
Jason walked off the ring, shoulders tense, jaw tight.
Bon stood frozen, blood dripping from her neck. Her fingers curled into fists—but she didn't speak.
And now, it was just Brandon and Bon.
Brandon knew from the start—he wasn't going to win this. But he didn't flinch. With blood dripping down his face, he let out a cracked breath and broke the silence.
"You were wrong about one thing. I do feel something… just one thing—loyalty. Loyalty to Jason. As long as I'm breathing, nothing will happen to him."
His bruised lips curled into a twisted smile.
"And Rosita... Rosie... my beautiful ex-wife," he said, voice low, "If I could go back, I'd still carve her open. Again. And again. And again."
Bon's fists clenched with white-knuckled rage—then she snapped.
With a guttural scream, she launched herself at him, slamming him to the ground. Her punches came down like hammers—unrelenting, blood spraying from Brandon's mouth with every hit.
But even through the beating, Brandon grabbed her wrist mid-strike, looked her dead in the eye, and said with a mad grin,
"Want to know why I opened her up? No one's ever known. But since you're dying to hear it..."
He laughed—a cold, twisted, broken laugh.
"I wanted to see my unborn child. And when I did... I held it up. Showed it to her dead face. I almost took her eyes too—God, I loved those eyes. But then I got a call... ruined the moment."
He burst into laughter again, sounding less human, more beast. Bon screamed and kept hitting him—until her knuckles split from the force.
Then she'd had enough.
With a swift motion, she pulled a poisoned dagger from her boot, eyes blazing, ready to end him once and for all—
But before the blade could reach his throat—Jason flashed in like lightning, grabbing her wrist mid-air.
His grip was firm—but gentle.
His eyes, once sharp, now held quiet pain.
"Don't," he said, voice low. "You've already won."
Bon froze, her body trembling. She hadn't realized it—but a tear had slid down her cheek. Jason slowly let her hand fall.
Brandon lay unconscious, blood pooling beneath him. Jason crouched beside him, still watching Bon.
"…Did you have personal feelings for this Rosita?" he asked softly. "Was it really just about revenge? Predator and prey?"

Bon's eyes darkened. She looked away.
"…Yes. Something like that," she whispered. "Rosita… she was the first to treat me like a person. Even after I told her who I really was… what I do. She smiled. Said she'd wait for me when I told her I was leaving for Saint Lucian. She called me Bonnie in that soft little voice…"
She paused, shaking.
"…Then, two years later, I found out she was getting married. I was happy… and broken."
Her voice cracked.
"And the next thing I knew—she was dead. Her body… ripped open. Most of her fingers gone. Her face unrecognizable. All done by Vortex."
She stared at Brandon—eyes hollow—then raised her blade again with trembling hands.
Jason tensed. "Why'd you stop?"
Tears streamed silently down Bon's blood-smeared face. Her voice cracked through the heavy air.
"…I don't know. Maybe it's Rosie… telling me to stop. Telling me to let go. I've spilled enough blood for her. I've done my part."
Jason didn't speak. There were no words sharp enough to stitch a wound like that.
Instead, he stood slowly, blood sticking to his boots. He glanced around the silent arena.
"…We need to clear the ring for the next round," he said quietly.
Bon didn't move.
Jason sighed, then walked over to Brandon's unconscious body, crouched, and without hesitation, slung him over his shoulder, blood soaking through his cloth. He started walking toward the edge of the ring.
"Hey," Bon called, her voice rough.
He stopped.
"How did someone like you end up working for an agency like that?"
Jason didn't turn around. His voice was cold. Calm. Heavy.
"I'm not soft," he said. "This is just what's left of me."
And with that, he walked off the ring—silent, bruised, and carrying what remained of his brother-in-arms.